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Chapter Text

A/N I'm sorry it took so long! But here is promised sequel! If you have not read Even the smallest light shines in the dark this won't make sense!

...

Rolling as he hit the next rooftop he didn't allow his momentum to falter. If he did he would be caught. He could not afford to be caught. Not now. Not when he was so close to his target.

Behind him, Clint could hear the muffled curse of the SHIELD agent. While Clint had rolled perfectly the other had not. Clint did not hesitate to continue to space between him and the agent. The evac point was still a mile and a half away but he couldn't go there. Not until he lost this tail.

As he approached the next edge he didn't jump for the next roof. Instead, he hopped down between the two buildings. There an awning was below him breaking his fall. He rolled off landing back on his feet with a grunt.

Looking up he saw the agent, Sitwell he realized looking down at him. Suddenly Clint was glad for the black hair dye and green-colored contacts. With any luck, he wouldn't be recognized by his old friend.

Shaking himself from his thoughts he took off out of the alley. Here he found himself in a mill of people. Slowing his pace he bent his knees to make himself slightly shorter. Clint then slipped out of his jacket and dropped it onto a stall he passed by. It was a nicer day given the time of year so it wouldn't be odd to see someone in just a long-sleeved shirt.

Taking the long way and backtracking several times he made his way to his evac point. He had to be positive that he wasn't being followed. A firefight would not end well for him. Not when he only had his sidearm and his Medusa knife sheathed at his thigh, and a few knives hidden in his sleeves. He had to leave his rifle behind when SHIELD showed up.

Since joining the Treadstone 71 program he had avoided using a bow. Bows were a dead giveaway at who was killing. He couldn't risk them sending Ph... Coulson after him. And if they knew Jason Bourne was Clint Barton they would send Ph... Coulson.

He was just a few hundred yards from the evac point now. It seemed he had in fact lost SHIELD. This time at least. Then he felt the telltale prickling on the back of his neck. Internally be swore as he quickly checked his surroundings again.

The check he did almost missed the muzzle of a gun coming around a corner. A muzzle that belonged to SHIELD. He did not get the clean getaway he wanted. There must have been agents in the crowd. This was something he should have predicted. He was getting sloppy.

A black-haired man half a head shorter than him was the agent. Clint caught him off guard when he knocked the weapon out of his hands. It was followed through by a punch to the man's gut. Down he went.

:Must be a new agent,: he thought with a wince.

No one with any seniority would have made that mistake. They would have cut the corner closer so that they saw Clint before he saw them. He took a step away from the downed agent. Just in time for a bullet to go past where his shoulder had been before.

Clint fully turned around to face the shooter. And felt the blood drain from his face. Natasha. She would most certainly not be fooled by his changes. As good of a job Abbott did there were some things you cannot hide from a partner. Same reason that Echo had immediately recognized him.

Running through his options Clint considered his options. Part of him was half tempted to make a break for it. He could escape and set up another extraction. A look at the weapon and where it was pointed he reconsidered. He would rather not take another bullet to the knee. It took him long enough to recover the first time.

Nat was pushing her way towards him her eyes blazing with fire. He raised his hands slowly thinking about ways to get away from her. Specifically getting away without hurting her too badly. She was a few short feet away when she stopped.

Nat ordered, "Turn around and place your hands on top of your head."

How about no? He needed a plan so that he could get away. Already he was planning on grabbing one of his knives. A flick of his fingers brought a knife down into his palm. With the perfect aim that came with his years of practice, it hit the weapon knocking off its aim. He then lunged grappling with the weapon.

Natasha's knee came up into his diaphragm trying to force him to let go. If he was anyone else it would have worked. Too bad he had been trained by both SHIELD and Treadstone. Instincts born from Medusa were honed to the point that even Fury would think twice about crossing him.

Clint was finally able to get the weapon away from Nat. His finger was on the trigger without a second thought. It was raised and pointed at her head. Steady hands showed that he was capable and willing to kill. Any doubt that SHIELD may have about his ability was gone.

Coldly he stared at her. Delta was trying to bleed into his mind. Forcefully he had to remind himself that this was not the time or the place for such a thing. Natasha paused however her eyes searching his face.

Confusion but no recognition crossed her face. At least not yet.

He growled making his voice distorted to avoid her recognition, "Leave Black Widow. I have no issue with you or SHIELD."

Nat glared, "You think I will just let you go, Bourne? You are a killer for hire and will take anyone out for the right price. For that, you must be stopped."

Clint said with a check of their surroundings again, "You don't have much of a choice here, Widow. Take my advice leave this alone. You have no idea what is really going on here."

"We won't stop," she denied, "You have to be stopped."

Clint sighed, "There is a bigger picture going on here. Only a few people know the truth. Do not think just because I kill means I don't have a good reason for it. After you kill for those you serve."

"You kill for money?"

He turned his head to the side in curiosity as he asked, "Do I? What do you really know about me?"

There was anger on her face as he heard the rumble of a car. That was his extraction. He stepped back putting space between them. Two pairs of green eyes clashed against each other.

The car appeared from around the corner and a door was flung open. Natasha snarled, "This won't be the last time we meet, Bourne!"

He hoped she was wrong. He truly did. If they continued to cross paths it would interfere with the mission.

...

Anger filled her as she watched Bourne disappear. She had not pushed her luck when facing him. The mission was supposed to be a simple watch and report back. That changed when Jasper decided to go after a man they thought was one of Bourne's newer assets. They hadn't expected it to be the hired killer himself.

She had seen Bourne's face. The first of SHIELD to see his face and survive. He had let her go instead of shooting her. Let her go with a warning. The question was why?

Jasper approached slightly out of breath, "Romanoff I collected the knife you said he threw at you. You might want to see this?"

He sounded unsure. It was so unlike Jasper that she did turn to see what had him so uncertain. The moment she saw the knife and the symbol engraved into its hilt. That was the sign of Medusa. Jason Bourne served in Medusa.

Chapter Text

...

It would have been admirable to have agents chasing a wanted criminal like this. SHIELD was doing a good job of dogging the footsteps of the newest assassin. They were intent on catching them. If only that assassin wasn't him.

Clint really did not want to deal with this today. He had killed a corrupt politician that had been on the Jackal's hitlist. It like most of his hits were meant to draw the Jackal out. Draw him out and kill him.

Right now though he was trying to avoid a SHIELD agent who most certainly would recognize his style. Bow or no bow. Bobbi had sparred with him and knew him just as well as Echo knew Delta.

The mix of the two mindsets and skills were what created Bourne. The analytical skills of Clint Barton with the killer instincts of Delta. Bourne could not have the hesitation to kill. Otherwise it might be he who ended up in the river.

Though unlike Delta, Bourne knew his friends from his enemies. Delta would kill anyone who got in his way. Bourne would use them to get to his goals. It was a fine line between them though. More than once he nearly slipped into the more dangerous mindset. Nearly killed someone who was meant to give him information so they couldn't share his location with anyone else. His paranoia was slowly becoming worse and he knew it.

Gordon had tried to speak to him, to act like the psychiatrist he thought Clint needed. Alex had argued strongly against bringing anyone else in. Two more had been added to give them a place for the 71st files. It was where the handlers met up to ensure no one was stepping out of line.

They didn't trust the former Medusa members anymore than Clint and his team trusted them. Only Gordon was trustworthy in his eyes. The rest could go to hell for all he cared.

Clint dropped onto the street below rolling as he did so. Then he popped up and kept running knowing the Bobbi was right behind him. As he turned a corner though a shot rang out. White hot fire tore through his shoulder.

This caused him to stumble but he kept on his feet. His good arm immediately put pressure onto the wound. His teeth grit against the pain and his vision greyed around the edges for a moment. From her cover another familiar face appeared. A single glock was pointed directly at his head.

A sense of deja vu overcame him as he raised his hands slowly wincing as he did so. It was just like a few weeks ago when he faced down Natasha. Except this time he had been wrangled towards the most dangerous single SHIELD agent. Melinda May aka Cavalry could take on the Avengers and likely kill half the team before they stopped her. Unlike the Avengers she was not afraid to fight dirty or to kill as necessary. Agents weren't given the luxury.

May ordered, "Don't move Bourne. I will not hesitate to kill you."

That he didn't dare to doubt.

"I don't doubt that, Cavalry," he replied and nearly smiled when her hands tightened on the grip of her weapon, "After all you shot me before verifying it was me and not your own agent."

Bobbie replied breathing hard, "She knew you would be the first to come around the corner. After all I was trying to catch up to you and was keeping in touch via comms."

Clint said with a cold smile, "So she did. What have I done to have the honor of having both Mockingbird and Cavalry after me?"

There was a flash of surprise in Bobbie's face. Then there was contemplation that took the place of surprise. She came around so that she could peer into his face. Small changes had been made to his appearance. They should be able to fool her just as they had done for Natasha.

A frown darkened her face as she searched his. She knew something was familiar about him but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Clint smiled ever so slight as she came closer. He kept his muscles loose as she did so preventing May from realizing his plan.

After all who would be so stupid as to move under her watchful gaze? Surely not a professionally trained assassin. Surely not.

As soon as she was close enough however he grabbed her quick as a viper. One arm wrapped around her throat and he hid enough so that May couldn't get a clear shot. He didn't draw one of his knives it wasn't necessary in this situation.

Bobbie had stiffened but she did not try to fight him. She knew as well as he did he could break her neck or slit her throat easily from this position. Clint was feeling light headed from the bloodloss. He pushed through it knowing his extraction point wasn't far. He just had to lose these two.

To Bobbie he asked, "What does SHIELD know about me? About what I'm doing?"

"You're a killer," she growled in return, "An assassin for the highest bidder trying to dethrone Carlos. Our orders are to bring you in alive if possible. Dead if it can't be avoided."

Clint laughed mirthlessly, "Really that's it? I thought better of SHIELD or at least Fury. Your information network is supposed to be top of the line. Then again you lost your Hawk. Didn't you?"

He began to move them around into another alley. There was a building he could slip into that could only be entered by one of the Treadstone 71st program. It's defenses would be activated the moment he entered. There was a tunnel under a hatch that would take him out of the city. A former drug den and bolt holes. It was supposed to be a last resort but he didn't fancy taking another bullet.

It was May who answered this time, "How do you know about, Hawkeye? Better yet, who are you, Bourne? Records show a Jason Bourne, Australian born having been sent to a military post in Tam Quan. No records of death or any further action on his part. Including marching orders. This shouldn't be possible even for a group known as Medusa. So I think the real Bourne died out there and you are a former Medusan. Possibly someone who worked alongside Bourne."

Clint gave a cold smile as he said, "All very good guess. However you have no proof that I'm not Jason Bourne."

They had continued into the alleys slowly making their way to where he wanted to go. It wouldn't be long before he could get away.

May agreed with narrowed eyes, "Not any physical proof beyond the fact that you do not have an accent. I would think someone who spent most of his life in a country would have a corresponding accent."

Mother fucker. Mistakes like this couldn't be made. They would get him or any one of those who followed him killed. It was a stupid mistake at that and he should have known better.

Clint's jaw tightened and he closed the distance between them and the safe house. There were almost directly outside now. He had to do better. This couldn't keep happening. SHIELD was a distraction. Carlos was the real target.

Now he was close enough. Time to leave but first...

"Nothing is ever as it seems," he said cryptically, "You are members of SHIELD and should know this better than anyone. Look further into things and you will find we are not so different. Until next time Mockingbird. Cavalry."

Chapter Text

...

Crawling through the grass Clint waited watching. He was laying in yellow grass in a ghillie suit with a rifle in his hands. Today he was not trying to kill anyone but it was a training exercise. Gordon was standing near the house watching for him.

The house is a simple one-story building made from brick. From his position, Clint could see Alex on the porch. His handler was watching for him just like his brother. They knew he was coming but didn't know from which direction.

On the other side of the house were sandy dunes that led to the ocean. In the air, he could smell the salty tang of the ocean. It was the closest thing to home than he had since leaving SHIELD. No matter who came to visit it wasn't the same. There wasn't the same camaraderie that he had with the other agents. At least before the Battle of New York.

Clint pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he slowly made his way forward. Once he had a clear shot he took it. A ping sounded as the bullet hit the side of the house. This caused Gordon and Alex to jump in surprise. Eyes searched the grass that Clint lay still in.

Then Gordon called out, "Alright you got us. Come out, brother."

A small real smile crossed his face. Clint slowly shifted so that he could stand without an issue. The men blinked in surprise at his position. It wasn't the best spot for the shot that he took. That was purposeful. He had to get used to taking different positions that weren't the best for shots. If he always took it from the best position SHIELD would figure out who he was.

Carefully he pulled off his ghillie suit and tucked it under one arm. With the rifle in his other hand, Clint headed down the hill to his brother and handler. Alex's cold eyes watched him before glancing at the wall where his shot hit. It wasn't far from his head but it wouldn't have hit the man. He was positive about that.

Arriving in front of the house he could hear the waves crashing in the distance. It was muffled even with his hearing aids.

Clint greeted with a tired smile, "Afternoon Alex. What brings you here?"

Alex said the coldness seeping out of his eyes, "Let's go inside. We need to speak."

With that, he spun on his heel and headed inside. Clint glanced at Gordon who would not meet his eyes. His broad shoulders were up near his ears. As if he was preparing for Clint to yell at him.

Clint asked softly, "What's wrong, brother? You are acting like you expect me to yell at you."

Gordon said softly still not meeting his eyes, "This is my fault. I mentioned it to Alex. For your sake."

Clint blinked as he asked, "My sake? Gordon what did you tell Alex?"

Gordon wouldn't explain much to his annoyance. So he had no choice but to head inside and go into the living room. Alex stood in front of the empty fireplace and Clint took a seat in the chair where he could see all the doors. Gordon took the other chair.

Clint sat on the edge of his seat and the tension was palpable. Whatever Alex had to say he obviously didn't think the younger man would like it. His hands twitched and made as if he wanted to grab a weapon or something similar. Though the two agents acted much the same as the handler.

After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Alex what is going on? It's not another mission you would have called me in before I got the shot in."

For a moment Alex seemed to search his face looking for something. Clint did not flinch or look away. Confidence from his time in the jungles of Vietnam was making its appearance again.

Finally, Alex said in an unusual tone, "Gordon made a good point about you and the other members of your team. I have consulted Echo to see if they thought it would help."

"If what would help?" He asked no longer withholding his annoyance.

Alex looked to Gordon and the two had a silent exchange. Annoyance made his hands tap a sequence on the side of his leg. A habit he recently picked it as a way to get little energy out.

Then Alex said, "You're falling back into old habits. A coldness has returned to you that I haven't seen since the war."

Clint blinked in surprise before he asked confused, "What the hell, Alex? That's what you and Abbott wanted. Why are you so worried about it now?"

"It's because you're mixing Delta and Bourne," Gordon this time, "There are times where even I can't tell the differences. I suggested that you and the others when possible have access to Panov or another trusted Doctor."

Clint blinked in surprise. There were times when Gordon couldn't even recognize him? It had gotten that bad? He thought he was keeping his mind in one piece.

Then again it was hard for him to tell what state his mind was in. He constantly struggled to keep Bourne from killing in training. If he wavered even for a moment he might aim to kill.

After a moment he said, "I'll only talk to Panov. You will have to ensure he won't talk to Fury and his agents."

Gordon seemed to let out a relieved breath. Alex's eyes searched his face for several long moments. Then he nodded. Some of the tension escaped him and it was followed from the rest of the group. Shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

For his part, Clint understood why they had worried about his reaction. His mind was a touchy subject. It didn't matter who was trying to discuss it with him. More often than not he would try to bite their head off. This was a fact of life since they had called him Bourne.

Taking a deep breath he calmed any initial reactions he still felt. He waited to see what Alex would say in reply. For his part, the handler seemed to think about his condition. Then he nodded.

Chapter Text

...

Alex waited outside of Panov's clinic watching and waiting. He knew that his friend would welcome any intrusion he could give. Fury had been trying to convince the man to return to work for SHIELD.

Mo refused every single time he visited. Fury had been the reason a patient lost all trust in him. More than two years of therapy out the window. Not that the doctor blamed Barton for leaving. He had been lied to and was told the first person who gave him a chance was dead. Then to find out in the worst way possible that he was alive. Sure all of the Avengers reacted badly but Barton ran.

Alex wondered occasionally what would have happened if he hadn't joined the Treadstone 71st operation. Where would the ex-assassin go? Return to the underworld he brought the fear of God to? He doubted it. It was far more likely he would have simply disappeared. There was so much darkness in his mind and it only got worse after the Battle of New York.

Alex stiffened when he heard a loud shout. That was Mo. Fury must have said something incredibly stupid if he got the good doctor to yell at him. Even with Alex's alcohol problem hadn't received more than a chiding tone. When Mo spoke no matter who you were you felt as if you needed to listen.

Then the door to the clinic opened and one Nick Fury stormed out. Oh someone was pissed off. He would have to ask Mo about what he said.

Alex watched as Fury headed down the street before entering an alley. Two minutes later a dark SUV with tinted windows came out. SHIELD issue as usual. Quinjets were too conspicuous.

After five more minutes of waiting to ensure no one was watching Alex crossed the street and entered the clinic. Unsurprisingly the good doctor was standing beside his receptionist's desk. He was talking to the young nurse trainee. It took a few moments for the nurse to notice him.

She greeted cheerfully, "Good evening. Do you have an appointment?"

Mo turned to see who she was talking to. Alex saw the way his friend's face paled and glanced around. He was ensuring that there weren't any SHIELD agents nearby.

Alex said with a smile meant to put her at ease, "I'm here to speak to Doctor Panov but I don't have an appointment."

She opened her mouth to respond but Mo held up his hand. He said, "It's fine, Annie. I know Alex very well and will go speak with him."

"If your sure doctor," she said uncertainly.

Mo gave her a reassuring smile. It dropped as soon as he turned to look at Alex. If he was being fair he deserved the suspicion. Mo knew that if anyone knew where Barton was it was him. The doctor beckoned for him to follow into one of the rooms.

Like most of the other offices that Mo ran it had chairs scattered all throughout it. Different sizes and kinds allowed any patient to feel comfortable. There was a single desk that was empty. Alex moved to stand in the blind spot of the door. Mo moved so that he leaned against the desk.

After a few moments of silence, Mo asked, "Alex what brings you in? You haven't come for a session in months. If anything you've been avoiding me."

Alex withheld a sigh as he replied honestly, "Your right, Mo. I have been avoiding you as much as I could. For good reason though."

Mo folded his arms across his chest as he asked his voice cold and his old holding disappointment, "Good reason? Alex our talks are important even if they aren't about your mission. You have admitted as much on several occasions. What would cause you to throw away years worth of therapy?"

Unable to hold his gaze any longer Alex looked away. No one wanted to see Mo's disappointed stare. It made you feel as if you were only an inch tall. Alex felt particularly bad given how much he had worked to put the agent's mind back together.

Alcoholism and war had taken their toll. He wasn't nearly as bad as Barton, he wasn't a part of Medusa. Not really. His status as a field agent had him on the legal side of things. Though if there was an issue with one of the more dangerous teams he was called in to try and talk sense into them. Usually, this was Barton's Century Team 12 as Barton would listen to him. Most of the time.

The remainder of Barton made him remember why he was there. It was not to explain himself to Mo. He was here to get help for the agent that was slipping. Alex had seen the product of Medusa. Gordon had been saved by it. This was something more and it terrified them. The fact that Barton could recognize that did not make it better. If anything it made it worse.

So meeting Mo's disapproving look he said, "I have not come for me, Mo. It's Barton."

An exasperated sigh escaped the doctor, "I have told Fury, his agents, and even the damn Avengers. I have not heard, seen, or corresponded with Agent Barton since he disappeared. I don't even know if he is dead or alive."

Reluctantly Alex admitted, "That was the plan."

"Excuse me?" If it was possible Mo's voice became even colder.

"It was planned that way when he agreed to join the newest plan," continued Alex, "We had to make sure there was no trace of Clint Barton so his undercover identity would work."

Mo asked obviously trying to keep ahold of his temper, "Alex what have you done?"

"This is a Four-Zero."

He watched as the words sunk in. Every muscle in Mo stiffened with surprise. There was a tightening across his face showing his anger. It was one of the few times Alex had ever seen him angry enough to show it. It ate at him to know he was the cause of the anger. Then he got off the desk and pulled a chair around to sit.

“Four-Zero? Call in one of your staff men. I’ve never requested that kind of clearance.”

Alex tried, “I can’t. That’s how tight it is.”

Mo shook his head, “Then you’d better whisper to God.”

“Mo, please," pleaded Alex, "He needs your help. Hell, I need your help."

For a long moment, the doctor searched his gaze. It was as if he was looking for a lie and Alex didn't blame him. There was so much wrong with this line of work. Lying to a psychiatrist wasn't beyond possibility. Alex wasn't lying though.

Finally, Mo allowed, "If I can. Go ahead.”

“A man is placed in a highly volatile, maximum stress situation for a long period of time, the entire period in deep cover. The cover itself is a decoy—very visible, very negative, constant pressure applied to maintain that visibility. The purpose is to draw out a target similar to the decoy by convincing the target that the decoy’s a threat, forcing the target into the open.… Are you with me so far?”

“So far,” said Mo not liking where this is going, “You say there’s been constant pressure on the decoy to maintain a negative, highly visible profile. What’s been his environment?”

“As brutal as you can imagine," admitted Alex.

“For how long a period of time?”

"A year," whispered Alex watching as recognition crossed Mo's face.

Mo asked his voice barely above a whisper, "When will you damn fools learn? Even prisoners in the worst camps could be themselves, talk to others who were themselves—” Mo stopped, catching his own words and Alex's meaning. “That’s your point, isn’t it?”

Alex simply nodded.

Mo rubbed a hand through his hair trying to calm himself. It was an action that Alex recognized for what it was. He had the feeling if it wasn't for all of the doctor's training Barton would need a new handler. No one, absolutely no one messed with Mo's patients.

Finally, he asked, "What do you want from me, Alex?"

Finally, he was getting somewhere, "We need you to talk to him. He's slipping, Mo. There are times where even Gordon doesn't know who's talking. Please."

There was a long moment of silence then, "I'll try."

Chapter Text

...

Phil stood in the Avengers Tower in the living room specifically. The others were sitting in their usual spots. Except for Natasha who was standing in the doorway leaning against the wood watching him. In the year since Clint ran she had not forgiven him for his part. Nor had she forgiven Fury.

Over the last year the Avengers had come to realize why Clint was needed. Without him they had big holes in their ability to fight together. Mistakes were made regularly that if they didn't have the abilities or equipment they did. They would have died. The reason for this meeting was to decide on a new member. Preferably it was someone who could act as a sniper and do close combat.

On the coffee table in front of Tony and Steven were the files. Only two of the five files were of current SHIELD agents. Phil knew they would not add another SHIELD agent to their group. He had only added them to appease Nick.

Tony pushed away said files as he asked, "What do we know about any of these people?" He pointed to the youngest, vigilante from New York, "This one is just a kid. He's not even out of High School yet. You can't expect us to allow a child in this he'd end up dead."

"Parker is already in the hero world," reminded Phil, "He's been a vigilante for over a year in New York. With some work he would make a good Avenger."

Disgusted looks were given. Even Banner and Thor seemed to dislike the idea. Thor had been the biggest surprise. They didn't know if the God of Thunder would come given how busy things had been on his own world. Yet here he was.

Banner on the other hand had been spending a lot of time with Tony. They were like minded and thus preferred to keep together. Phil had also noticed how calm Banner became since moving in. There were very few instances of Hulk coming forward.

Phil raises his hands in defeat, "I am not saying choose him now. I believe he is one to watch and help if he needs it. Next is a darker vigilante who can and will kill as he finds necessary. Though I have my doubts on if he would work with us."

Deadpool aka Wade Wilson had a foul mouth on him. Though from what intelligence he could have gathered on short notice they found out he had a soft spot for Parker. Most likely if one was to join the other would follow suit. Or Ware would stop it completely.

The other options were part of their attempts to track down Clint. Echo and Charlie's files were on the table. As former Medusans they would know how to get into contact with Clint or Delta as he was known. Their skills would be up to par with the Avengers and would be helpful assets until their Hawk could be found.

Tony and Steven both had picked up the files on the Medusan members. Phil saw the wrinkling on their noses. They obviously didn't like the two. Unfortunately there was only one other.

This candidate that made him nervous. Fury originally wanted the candidate brought in to possibly become an agent. They took a chance on Barton. This person, killer for hire really but he seemed to be going after those that SHIELD would. And if rumors were to be believed then he was after the Jackal.

Tony said picking up the final file, "Bourne? You want us to consider bringing Bourne in? Have you lost your mind? He's a killer!"

"So was I, Tony," came Natasha's cool reply.

Tony exclaimed, "That's different, Spider. You have changed but this is someone who was a killer before and continues to be a killer now."

Phil didn't get the chance to stop Natasha before she asked her voice as cold as ice, "What do you think Clint and I did as agents, Stark? We were killers before."

"I..."

Even Steven was looking a little green around the edges. They didn't like being reminded of the two's not so distant past. What they said was true. If SHIELD hadn't come along the two assassins would either be dead. Or they would be enemies of the Avengers. That was a fact. Not a question.

Natasha continued vindictively, "Bourne is no different than myself or Barton. If you do not believe he can change than what of us?"

Phil firmly said, "Romanov enough."

"Coulson," She tried but he gave her a look and finally she nodded.

To the others he continued, "Unfortunately we do not have a large pool to choose from. By your own choices you have the two confirmed Medusan members, one unconfirmed Medusan, and two vigilantes. No matter who you choose we need to another member."

They exchanged looks. It was obvious that they didn't want to pick any of the files. At the same time they knew he was right. If things continued as they were someone would die.

It was Tony who broke the silence, "Okay, Bourne what do we know about him?"

...

Above him was the dark sky. He could see bright stars and at a distance he could see the lights of the nearest neighbor. A neighbor who was over four miles away. Even with his eyes he could only barely make out the lights.

A few days passed since Alex went to find Panov. Clint wasn't sure he wanted to talk to the man. Betrayal still hung heavy in his heart. But he knew he needed help. Jason was taking control more and more.

To his left Clint saw headlights headed towards the house. Pushing himself up he headed inside to grab a weapon. It could be Alex but it could be someone coming to finish him.

The first weapon he found was a glock. It would have to do for the moment. The field box was on the other side of the house. While he could go get it, that would leave him vulnerable.

It only took a few minutes for the car to stop nearly silently. From his position he saw two figures get out of the car. Vaguely he could hear voices. They were faint at first but as the grew closer he recognized them. With a sigh he replaced the weapon and stepped away from the door. He headed into the living room just as Alex entered.

The agent jumped half way out of his skin when he saw Clint. He snarled, "Damn it, Barton don't do that. What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?"

"I was on the roof," explained Clint easily as Panov entered.

For a moment the two simply stared at each other. Clint was uncertain how the other would react to him. It made him jumpy as Panov stepped forward. Almost immediately he stepped back.

Panov paused his eyes assessing the younger man. Clint didn't move even as he wanted to.

"I can see what you mean, Alex," said Panov slowly, "You look more lost than when we first met, Clint."

Clint opened his mouth but nothing came out. He couldn't argue with the doctor as he was right. Clint was lost, had been since he began this fight.

Panov smiled, "Let's go outside and talk."

"Okay."

Chapter Text

...

Clint stood leaning against the rail of the porch once more his eyes focused on the night. Behind him Panov's eyes bore into his back watching his every move. Clint wanted to vault over the rail and disappear into the night. Jason wanted to draw his knife and threaten the man into leaving. Delta... Clint swallowed. He wouldn't go there.

Panov asked, "How did this come about?"

Clint hummed but didn't reply. His eyes were still staring out into the night.

"Clint," tried the man again, "It's been a year. I honestly did not think I would see you again."

Clint sighed, "I didn't expect to see you again until this was over."

"And what is this?" Panov asked quietly, "Why are you reverting back to Delta under a different name?"

Clint answered dully his eyes unfocusing and becoming grey, "I don't actually kill that often you know," Panov startled as he continued, "It's mostly taking credit for the killings and trying to lure out someone. He is the real target."

"You haven't been... Why?"

Clint glanced back at the doctor, "Don't get me wrong, Panov. I still have killed since becoming Bourne. It just hasn't been in the numbers that was reported. We pick and choose who I kill carefully. Just enough for it to be believable."

"Damn it, Clint," Panov swore causing the younger man to blink in surprise, "Why? This isn't like when you worked with SHIELD. There has to be a reason you're going against everything you stood for. Help me understand."

It did go against what he believed in. Didn't it? Clint had been caught up in his pain he had forgotten why he joined SHIELD. At the time he had been tired of killing for the sake of killing. Coulson had brought him in out of the cold, with a bullet in his leg. Now just three years later he was back to who he had been before.

Unlike before however there was a reason he was killing. One that was more than just trying to right a few wrongs by bringing about the death of another. Could he tell?

Alex wouldn't have brought him here if he didn't trust Panov. Once Clint wouldn't even have to ask. He would have immediately trusted the man with what they were doing. Still the cynical part of his mind said to keep his damn mouth shut. The less people who knew the truth the less likely Carlos would find out.

"Clint," whispered Panov his voice soft and soothing, "I can't help you if I don't know what's really going on. Do you trust me?"

That finally got Clint to turn around and face the doctor. Hazel eyes were watching him and every movement he made. They both knew what he was capable of. Even if Clint no matter what side was in control had never hurt the doctor.

Clint took a breath and explained, "We are hunting a man. His name is Ilich Ramírez Sánchez also known as Carlos the Jackal."

It took a few second for that to sink in. As soon as he understood the hazel eyes widened.

"Carlos? Of all the," here Panov took a breath to center himself then continued, "That means you joined the program Treadstone 71. Alex had brought it to me before I should have known. I warned him about this exact issue."

"It's the price we pay, doc," exhaustedly replied Clint, "The Jackal has to be stopped and at this point no one else can pull it off. Pa... Mo he has to be stopped."

"Why you? Didn't Echo and your other teammates have it?"

Clint admitted, "If it was just one of two of them the idea could have worked. The problem was that Alex and and Monk decided they wanted most of the team. Maybe if it had been another team... I couldn't say I don't know enough about the others personalities. Century Team 12 however doesn't work without a leader. This entire idea was falling apart when I joined. If I hadn't come when I did the entire idea would have failed. There's no second chances in this game, Mo. Carlos would have killed them and then gone to ground."

"It didn't have to be you," tried Panov.

Clint didn't even try to stop the snort, "That's where you're wrong. They would have tolerated an outsider for a short time. I'll give them that much. But when push comes to shove they would have closed ranks excluding anyone who was not there. Even Alex and Monk would have been excluded. With me there they have someone to act as a go between."

If he was being fair though he wasn't much better. There were times where he went off and no one knew where. Not his team. Not Alex or Monk. The system was better than it had been but it was far from perfect. By the look on Panov's face he agreed with the assessment.

It was the doctor's turn to sigh, "Knowing you as I do I'm not surprised. Just be careful. We will need to restart our sessions. As soon as possible."

Clint gave the man a fond look. Yeah he had been expecting that. Panov wasn't one to beat around the bush. On top of that the mess that was his mind would only get worse if they did not get a handle on it now. So he agreed.

They fell into an easier silence than Clint had in quite awhile. Only for it to be broken by Alex, "Clint, you may want to see this."

"What," he demanded with more force than necessary annoyed that the little peace he found was shattered.

This had better be good.

"It's the Avengers."

Yeah that would do it.

Chapter Text

...

The Avengers wanted a meeting with Jason Bourne. What in the fuck? Why would they want to meet with him? Surely they thought the same of him as most of the world. Unless Fury had lost his fucking mind. Actually that wouldn't surprise Clint at all. Looking over Conklin's shoulder he frowned at the secure communication.

It was a simple cypher. Clint hadn't used the cypher since his early days in Medusa. The cypher was too easy to break so he changed it out for a more complicated one. This one was only used as training now.

Clint asked frowning as he leaned over the back of the chair, "Are we sure this actually came from the Avengers? Surely they would want to use a more complicated cypher? Not one that would be broken so easily."

Alex shrugged, "The location is correct. I can't find anything that would indicate that it's forged. What do you want to do, Clint?"

Clint's frown deepened. He leaned closer to the screen despite being able to see it perfectly. What should he do? If it was real, then he could hear them out. Bourne made contacts with all sorts which included SHIELD or the Avengers if it came to it. In the last year neither group had made an attempt to contact him. If it wasn't real then he could be walking directly into a trap. This could be Carlos. It could be his best chance to kill the assassin.

With a sigh he straightened so that he stood tall and considered his options. Alex watched him with cautious eyes. If anyone knew what could be going through his mind it would be Alex. Or at least he had. This mission had turned Clint's mind inside out. It had changed things in ways no one expected. Panov was here now but there was no telling if he could repair the damage that was already done. Regardless of what the man thought he would continue the game until either he was dead or Carlos was. There were no other options in this.

Considering his options he ordered, "Return their message with a time and place. I'll meet them. But only two of them. Anymore than that and I won't show. Make it clear Alex."

"If you are sure," replied Alex unsurely and after a moment's hesitation he added, "Delta."

Was he Delta here? Or was he Bourne? Blue darkened to grey. It didn't matter, both would likely be needed during this next confrontation.

...

Phil and Banner stood in a warehouse on the Canadian Coast. It was cold enough that they could see their breath condensing in the air. It was so cold that there weren't really any scents in the air. They were chosen as the two to meet with Bourne as they were the most level headed of the group. Out of the three that he could have chosen few would have guessed that it would be Banner.

Normally it would have been Natasha accompanying him but he wasn't sure she wouldn't shoot Bourne and be done with it. Rodgers most would have assumed would be his second choice. However Captain America was very stringent on rules. Phil couldn't see him agreeing to speak cordially with an assassin. At least with Banner, Phil could trust the man to listen unless Hulk came out. If that happened it was just better to let the green guy do his thing.

Phil trusted the Avengers with his life. A trust that may come to bite him in the ass if Bourne turned this into a trap. They had made first contact but it was the assassin who chose this position. A warehouse far from anything. No one would hear them if it came to a firefight they would be alone. Only two members were allowed to attend if there were anymore then Bourne would not show.

"Coulson," whispered Banner, "He's here."

Phil did not startle or jump. Instead he slowly looked around the warehouse. He almost missed the figure in black hiding in the shadows. So still was the figure it would have been easy to overlook him. Bourne.

Phil greeted in a cold tone, "Jason Bourne thank you for coming. I am..."

"I know who you are," growled out the figure as he came out of the shadows, "Philip Coulson, one of Fury's most trusted agents. Doctor Bruce Banner, member of the Avengers also known as the Hulk. What I do not know is what do you want with me?"

Bourne had dark hair that was cut short. It must have been cut since the last time they ran into him. His eyes were the same kind of shifting blue gre that Phil had seen in Clint. A Medusa mark. It seemed Bourne was just as lost within his own mind as Clint was when they first met. He wore simple clothes but Phil could see at least one weapon tucked away. The man did not trust them and he was prepared to fight if it came to it.

Phil answered pulling out a file from his jacket and tossing it on the ground between them, "We want to recruit you."

"Recruit?" Questioned the man darkly as he slowly walked over and picked it up, "What makes you think I would work with SHIELD? I saw what you did to Hawkeye."

Phil stiffened and asked worried for his agent, "You've spoken to Barton? Is he well?"

Bourne's eyes flashed as he answered, "As well as he can be. He's still hiding out."

Phil felt his chest tighten. So the man still hadn't forgiven him for lying. He felt his heart clench painfully. Every part of him wanted to demand answers from Bourne. The assassin was their only lead on Barton. Yet he knew if he tried the man would clam up or disappear. He would have to earn the man's trust in order to ask about Barton.

So instead of confronting the questions he had Phil said, "We need another member to our team. The Avengers are strong individually but as a team they need work. They need another member to act as eyes in the sky to watch their backs."

"And you want this person to be me?" Bourne asked incredulously, "You must have gotten the wrong impression of me, agent. I'm an assassin. I work alone."

Phil's jaw clenched and he continued as if the man hadn't interrupted him, "Despite your reputation Bourne you don't kill indiscriminately. You have a code that you seem to follow. You don't kill women or children. Those you kill would have been targeted by SHIELD at one point or another."

"Your point?"

Phil took a breath to steady himself as he tried to make his point, "You are the best option. Your skills are equal to or above that of any agent we could assign. The Avengers need another person or lives will be lost."

Bourne looked at him long and hard. Phil couldn't read the man at all. It was as if he was a stone wall.

After a moment he turned to look at Banner and asked, "And what do you think of this, doctor? Surely you wouldn't want to work with an assassin?"

Banner shrugged as he answered easily, "I don't have a problem with you, Bourne. I can see the value you would bring to the team."

Bourne hummed. His eyes once again met his eyes. There was something familiar about them and it was disconcerting.

Then he said, "If I agree to this, agent, then I won't change what I'm doing. I have a job to do."

Phil blinked then he nodded, "We can agree to that. Will you need help with the job?"

The look he received was cold enough to freeze hell itself over. His breath caught in his chest and after a moment Bourne left back into the shadows.

Chapter Text

...

Clint flexed his fingers nervously when he returned to the safe house. The warmth inside alerted him that it wasn't empty. He could smell the dinner cooking and coffee brewwing As he expected Alex and Gordon were there waiting for him. Gordon smiled relief was clear in his eyes from where he stood at the stove. It seemed his brother had considered the chance that SHIELD or the Avengers could try to take him in. If they had it would have been a blood bath on the part of the betrayers.

Alex stood and went to the coffee maker and poured them cups. It was oddly familiar setting almost like old times.

Gordon asked his blue eyes sparklingly, "How did your meeting go?"

"It went well," admitted Clint, "I'll work with the Avengers as needed. Their major request was that I train with them on occasion. We will have to work that around what we are planning against Carlos."

Alex sighed as he handed Clint a cup of coffee that smelled divine, "Here take this. I think we can work around you training with them. The only issue I foresee is if you get called by them for an emergency and us at the same time."

He took a sip of the warm sweet coffee. The tension released from his shoulders and he dropped into the closest chair. He could see the way Gordon and Alex exchanged a worried glance. They were worried for him and were trying to find the words to express it.

Gordon questioned quietly, "Have you talked to Mo yet, Clint?"

Clint stared at him before he said, "No. I haven't had the moment to talk to him. I just got back from the meeting."

He took another sip of the coffee. Honestly he probably should go see Panov. His mind was still jumping from one between Clint and Bourne.

Gordon said after a moment, "He should be back soon. He went to see a patient while you were gone. Here eat. You haven't been eating much since this whole fiasco started."

A plate of spaghetti was placed in front of him with a side of garlic bread. It looked as good as it smelled reminding Clint that Gordon could have gone into cooking if his heart wasn't set on the military. The first bite was as good as he remembered the other's cooking to be.

"Well at least if nothing else I know you won't get rid of me for my cooking," joked Gordon, "You can't cook worth shit after all."

Clint flipped him off as he ate and the other two settled at the table with their food.

...

Later that night found Clint laying on his back on the roof. Lighting was flashing across the sky and the scent of rain lay heavy around him. It was coming and he would need to move inside if he wanted to stay dry. Clint didn't move instead just watching the lightning.

A sudden crack of a tree limb startled him. The footsteps were light and careful. Panov then. If it was Alex or Gordon then they wouldn't be acting so careful with him.

"What do you want, Doc?" He called out just loud enough to be heard over the thunder that rolled over them.

There was a pause in the footsteps before Panov called out, "Alex said you went to talk to the Avengers. Do you want to talk about it?"

Clint sat up and looked down the roof at Panov. The doctor was wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and jeans. It was the first time he had seen the man in such casual clothes.

He brought one leg up and leaned against it as he replied, "I'm fine, Panov. I don't need to talk about it."

"That's a lie," flatly replied Panov as he stared up at Clint, "If you don't want to talk at least do me the courtesy of not lying to my face, Clint."

"I'm not lying to your face," quipped back Clint with a faint smile, "I'm lying to you from the rooftop."

That got him an unamused huff in response that made his smile widen. The doctor was easy to annoy if one knew what buttons to press. Clint had become proficient in pressing said buttons thanks to his training.

Panov sighed, "I would prefer you didn't lie to me at all, Clint. Lying doesn't help you with what you're feeling. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

There was a long pause. Clint didn't know what to say to him. To make him understand that he didn't even understand what he was feeling anymore. He wasn't even sure he wanted to understand at this point.

"Clint?"

Clint shook his head trying to clear his thoughts as he replied, "I'm still here."

"What happened with the Avengers?" Questioned Panov quietly.

Clint's smile faltered and disappeared. Blue grey eyes stared out over the darkness. The only illumination was the occasional lighting and one light from the window. Then rain began to pour drenching the assassin and doctor to the bone. Yet neither moved to head inside.

Finally he answered, "They accepted Bourne into the group temporarily. They are still looking for me, Panov. Coulson is still looking for me."

The last part was choked out. They were still looking for him and he didn't know how to take it. When they found and they would they would not be able to accept him. He understood that. But then why did it hurt so much to admit it even in his thoughts?

Chapter Text

...

Clint rolled his shoulders as he contemplated how he was going to get into Stark Tower. It had only been two weeks and the Avengers had requested him to come for a training session. Since his hunt for the Jackal wasn't going anywhere he had been forced to agree.

The best option would be to go through the front door. It wasn't something that Clint Barton would do and thus he wouldn't bring suspicion down upon him. He should do that. The Hawkeye part of him told him he should go through the vents. Tony would have left the vents open for him if he wanted to return.

His leg bounced as he considered his options for a moment longer. Then he decided and headed straight for the door. Unfortunately using the vents like he wanted would be too much like Hawkeye. So through the front door he went.

Inside a blast of cool hair hit him and Clint raised his eyes to look at the ceiling. Not much had changed in the time since he left. There were a few people milling about in the lobby and as expected he was ignored. At the elevator doors he swiped the key card Stark had given him.

The elevator opened and he stepped inside. Jarvis greeted as the doors closed again, "Welcome, Mr. Bourne. The Avengers and Agent Coulson are in the training room. Do you want me to take you there?"

"Yes," he replied shortly and the elevator started.

Halfway up to the training room Jarvis said, "It's good to have you back, sir. Mr. Stark has been worried about you."

A shiver ran down his spine as he questioned sharply, "Who all knows?"

"Just me sir," replied the computer cheerfully, "If Mr. Stark wanted to, he could check but it's unlikely he will. So your secret is safe with me. All your previous permissions have been reinstated."

He was honestly taken aback. He hadn't expected Jarvis to keep his secret. He was grateful to him for it. This would keep things less awkward at least for a time.

After a few moments he reached the floor where the training room was. When the doors opened the Avengers staring at him with a mixture of mistrust and curiosity. Only Thor wasn't there. To his surprise Natasha gave him a respectful nod. Clint returned the nod before he turned his attention to the other.

Rogers was the first to approach with an extended hand, "Bourne it's good to meet you. I am Steven Rogers. You know Bruce Banner and Agent Coulson. This is."

Clint didn't let him continue as he interrupted coldly, "Natasha Romanov and Tony Stark. Yes I know. Romanov the Hawk sends his best. He's still not allowed coffee."

There was the barest twitch of her lips in amusement. She would know that his words were the truth with that. It didn't matter where he was. A boss only made the mistake of giving him coffee.

Coulson cut in, "You've said something similar before. You've spoken to Barton? How is he?"

Clint folded his arms across his chest and answered coldly, "He's as well as can be expected. When I talked to him last he was working alongside Echo. What they and myself are doing is beyond top secret."

The group exchanged glances. One that wasn't hidden well enough was sent to Stark. He shut that down immediately.

"Don't think you can hack files to find out the truth on us," snapped Clint, "The files don't exist on any computer. The reason is for people like Stark. Only three people in the world know where they are. And I'm not one of them."

None of the undercover members were. Alex, Abbott, and Gordon were the three members who knew where the files were kept. The ones Clint and Panov had been shown before were only tiny pieces to the full thing. Since he had joined they were locked away. Not even the Directors of the CIA and NSA had access. That's what it meant to be 4-0. If they were to be captured by foreign officials there would be no rescue. If Carlos caught them. There would be no help sent. Like in Tam Quan, they could only count on themselves and each other.

Coulson replied after a moment, "We won't pry any further then. However if you need us don't hesitate to make contact. This is a two way street Bourne. Now for why you're here today. We thought we'd have a training session to evaluate skills further."

"You realize I use a sniper as my main weapon right?"

"You are skilled in hand to hand combat," retorted Coulson.

Unfortunately Clint couldn't dispute that. He was also skilled in the use of swords. He wondered if he should surprise them with that skill. It wasn't something that would link him to Hawkeye. No one knew about it.

There was a weapons rack nearby and there was a sword sheathed on it. Clint considered it before deciding that he wanted to show more than just his hand to hand ability. Without saying a word he grabbed it and tested the balance. While not comparable to his own blade it would do.

Turning to the Avengers he said, "Let's start then."

They were shocked except for Natasha. She looked intrigued and took the first step towards him. Rogers threw out an arm and took a step towards him. Clint drew the sword and took an open form.

...

Phil felt a shiver run down as his spine as he watched Bourne took down each Avenger one by one. Rogers lasted the longest so far as Banner sat it out. Stark had been knocked completely unconscious by the assassin. There was something familiar about the movements. It made his heart clench as he watched as Romanov engaged Bourne in battle.

Chapter Text

...

Natasha put up the best fight of the Avengers but it wasn't enough. The two fought with such a precision it was hard to believe that they were not in sync. Both moved with deadly grace. Their blades clashing against each other.

When Bourne managed to pin her, barely, and slammed his sword down close to her neck. He let her go and offered her his hand.

"You did good," Clint said, "Out of all of the Avengers you put up the best fight. Except for the Widow if it came down to a hand to hand fight you would die. You can't always rely on powers or weapons. If your opponent knows how to disable the weapons or use them against you, you have lost."

Stark wiped away the blood from his cheek as he said, "I'll keep that in mind."

Banner nodded as he asked, "Is there anything you can't do, Bourne?"

Clint said, "There's a lot of things I can't do. I can't fix things very well, for example. I'm not an engineer or mechanic so that is out."

Phil stepped in, "You all should go rest up. Bourne you and I are going to be sparing next. Get ready."

The other Avengers walked off to their respective areas. Clint stared at his former handler with apprehension. He didn't expect this at all.

His hands tightened around the sword hilt as he took his stance. Couslon had a pistol on him but was leaving it holstered. They circled each other like animals waiting to strike.

"I hope you aren't going to pull punches, Coulson," taunted Clint, "I wouldn't want you to end up like the other Avengers."

Coulson coldly replied, "Don't worry I won't hold back. After all you aren't going to have any mercy on me."

With that he charged at him. Clint brought up his sword to block the knife. The blade had been concealed in Coulson's sleeve. Clint was glad he had decided not to take a risk.

It was a brutal fight. Clint had not been lying when he told the Avengers that he didn't play nice. He wasn't above kicking the man when he was down.

The first time Coulson hit the ground Clint was on top of him. He tried to slam the pummel of the sword down. Couslon was quick and rolled away. He was back on his feet in seconds.

Coulson was quick and agile. He wasn't as good as the Widow but he was close. If they were not fighting he would be impressed. As it was the two were locked in combat.

They both had their weaknesses. For Clint it was his hearing and his leg. He was still recovering from his latest injury.

For Couslon he had a wound from his last battle with the Chitauri. Clint had heard that the man died from a spear through his chest. It had to be painful.

Clint could not allow himself to feel sympathy for his opponent. That would only lead to him making a mistake. If he made a mistake now then he could be killed. He was not going to die today.

A lucky swipe with his knife caused Couslon's sleeve to split open. There was a thin line of blood welling up from his skin.

"First blood," said Clint with a smirk, "Not bad for an old man, Couslon."

Couslon growled at the comment, "Who are you calling old? I'm not even forty."

Clint taunted him again, "You sure act like an old man. Slow, boring, and predictable. It's a wonder the Avengers didn't kill you the first time."

Coulson glared at him, "I am not slow."

With that Couslon charged. Clint braced himself and blocked the incoming attacks.

When Clint's leg buckled Coulson's knife sliced along his side. Clint's own blade swung upward and sliced open Coulson's shirt.

The man had a scar running from his sternum to his navel. It was the scar he had seen on the helicarrier. Luckily Clint's own recognizable scars were covered by his own shirt.

They circled each other once more. Their blades clashed together as they continued. Eventually his legs were swept out from under him.

Clint was pinned down on his stomach with a knife to his throat. He snarled and tried to break the hold. Coulson kept a tight grip on his neck and his arms.

A voice ordered," That is enough!"

Coulson got off of him and stood at attention. Clint pushed himself to his knees and looked at the one eyed man. Fury didn't look happy. Bourne pushed aside Clint within his own mind. The killer was ready to face down Fury.

Fury asked coldly," Care to explain yourselves?"

Bourne quipped, "Well, Fury. I don't believe I agreed to be in the same building as you. The Avengers can contact me when they need me. Otherwise I am not your asset."

He could see that Couslon was tense. The older agent was worried about the outcome of the conversation. Fury's blue eye narrowed and stared at him.

Bourne said," What? Cat got your tongue, Fury? You can't honestly tell me that you want me. You were prepared to kill me if I was a threat. The only reason I'm here is as a favor to the Hawk. I could care less about what you have to say."

The older man was getting angry. That was a good sign. Angry men didn't think straight. They were prone to make mistakes. If they had any suspicions on Clint and Bourne being the same person they would ignore it.

Fury said angrily," I would watch what I say, Bourne. I have ways of making your life difficult."

Bourne asked with a laugh, "Oh really? I would love to see you try. I'm a fucking ghost. If I disappear the only ones who will notice is the Avengers. Maybe the occasional reporter."

Fury snarled, "You are an asset to SHIELD. Just like everyone else here."

The older man looked as though he was going to blow a gasket. It was a wonder he didn't have a stroke. Fury had a very high blood pressure.

Bourne replied," Oh I am not a SHIELD asset. I don't play well with others. If it was up to me, you'd have a bullet in your head. As a matter of fact, it's been a while since I put a bullet through someone's skull."

As he spoke his hands reached into his vest. He could feel his knives against his chest. He wouldn't draw them not yet. Fury was smart. He would know that if he drew them it was the last thing he would do.

Fury said, "I'm sure. Coulson will be your handler while you work with the Avengers. Under no circumstances are you to enter my helicarrier."

Was that a challenge? He was pretty sure it was. Still he would let it go for now. He could chase trouble for the bastard another day.

He said," Goodbye, Fury. I won't miss you. Avengers. Widow always a pleasure."

With that he turned and left the room. Widow watched him go with a thoughtful look on her face. She had known him the longest of anyone. Even before the incident. She was the closest thing he had to family.

Once he was outside the building he pulled his burner phone. Dialing the number he held it up to his ear. He was walking down the street when someone picked up.

The voice was male and accented," How can I help you?"

Bourne replied," It's me. I'm in New York."

"I'm sure you have a reason. We need to meet. I have some intel that you would find useful. As well as a job offer."

The line went dead.

Chapter Text

...

Echo hadn't changed much in the time since their last meeting. There was a more haunted feeling about him now though. It likely had to do with working for the Jackal. While to date he'd never met the man face to face, Echo did work for the Jackal's many businesses. A lot of their information was being funneled out through him. It was odd to see Echo out of Paris however.

The two were in a diner sitting in a booth. Clint had changed his clothes so not to draw the attention of anyone hunting his different identities. The last thing he needed was to be recognized by Carlos's men or worse SHIELD. Echo wore a black t-shirt and jeans with a light jacket over the shirt. Clint took a seat at the table Echo chose. It was in the back of the cafe and allowed them to see anyone who entered or exited the cafe.

"How's the hunt?" Asked Echo once he sat down.

"Difficult," admitted Clint, "Carlos is slippery. Every time I get a lead it's a dead end or I end up fighting his lackies. I swear, I almost had him in Prague."

Echo sighed his shoulders slumping a little in disappointment. Clint felt for the other man. Century Team 12 had been a part of the hunt for the Jackal before Clint had been brought in. All of them had their reasons for the hunt. Some were more personal than others. But they all wanted the same thing. To stop the assassin once and for all. No matter the price.

After a moment of silence between them the waitress came to the table. The young woman had curly brown hair and was wearing the cafe's uniform. She smiled brightly at the pair of them. They tried to return the smile but it was strained. She looked between them as her smile became a little strained.

However she quickly covered the expression and greeted them cheerfully, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is May and I'll be taking care of you today. What can I start you both off to drink?"

Clint ordered, "Coffee, black please."

"Same for me," said Echo in a quiet voice.

She jotted the orders down and promised, "Your drinks will be out in a couple minutes. Our special of the day is the bacon burger with a side of fries."

Then she was gone leaving the two to their conversation. Echo watched her go for a long moment. He seemed a million miles away. A feeling that Clint understood better than anyone. It had gotten progressively worse the longer he had played his role. As Alex and Gordon worried he was losing himself. He wondered if Echo felt he was losing himself too.

"Do you ever forget who you are?" asked Echo quietly.

"All the time," confessed Clint, "I wake up in the morning and sometimes I don't remember where or even who I am. I worry that soon enough I will lose myself to Jason. Panov is trying to keep me sane but it works less and less every day."

Echo's hands shook a little at Clint's answer. He ran his hand through his hair. His entire body language was screaming his distress. Clint felt a wave of guilt wash over him. His answer was causing more distress for his friend. He could have told him that everything would work itself out in the end. That they would have a happy ending. But that would have been a lie. Happy endings were for fairy tales and not people like them. They would live and die for the sake of others.

"Have you ever thought of giving it up?" asked Echo and seemed like he was going to say more when their waitress returned.

"Two coffees, black," announced the young lady happily, "Are we ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?"

Clint and Echo shared a quick glance. Neither of them had actually bothered to look at the menu.

Instead of admitting that Clint said, "We will have the special of the day. Thank you."

"Okay," nodded the waitress, "It will be out shortly. Let me know if there is anything else you need."

Then she left them alone again. Clint took a sip of the coffee. The liquid was bitter and strong. It was a decent cup of coffee for the price being paid for it.

"Bravo was killed yesterday," stated Echo, "The police found his body in an alley. His cover had been blown. Carlos had his men execute him. Charlie is on his way to the safe house in London. I don't know how many covers are blown but so far mine is still clear. The mission..."

"Will continue until either the target or all of us are dead," interrupted Clint, "For Bravo we should see this to the end."

"For Bravo..." repeated Echo.

The two fell silent after that. Their food was served and they ate in silence. Echo did give him the promised job offer with a sick look given to the file. It was a job to go after a corrupt senator and had been approved by Abbott. He'd be killing on American soil this time. It wasn't the first time nor would it be the last. Once their lunch was finished the two parted ways. Clint had his own mission to carry out now. One that would hopefully bring him closer to the Jackal.

...

Bourne it seemed had taken the bait. Carlos knew that his newest employee in his fashion shop back in Paris didn't have the same loyalty to him as others did. It was why he preferred to use the homeless as his trusted messengers. Currently the man had his usefulness but it wouldn't last. As soon as his usefulness ended Carlos would personally shoot the traitor in the throat. He would serve as a reminder. No one betrayed Carlos without severe consequences.

First though he would face Bourne down and kill him.

Chapter Text

...

Alex frowned at his phone. It had been over a week since he or Gordon heard from Clint. That wasn't normal even for him. Normally the man would check in at least once a day. Now he had just fallen off the radar. When he contacted Panov the doctor had said the same thing. The last time anyone had seen him was when he left the Avenger's Tower after his meeting. Checking the information networks didn't show him being captured by someone else. Something about this didn't feel right.

"Anything, Alex?" asked Gordon from the couch, "It's not like him to not check in. This is the longest that any of us haven't heard from him."

Alex rubbed his eyes tiredly and shook his head mutely. Nothing at all. It was almost like he had disappeared off the grid completely. The only person who might have a shot at finding him was Stark. However, that would require him to contact the Avengers and doing that could compromise their operation. Which left him two options. Compromise the operation or wait for Clint to contact him. Neither were good options.

"Nothing," finally answered Alex, "There's no mention of him in the news or otherwise. We've checked in at the usual places and no sign of him. Not that means much with him. If anyone can disappear its him."

Gordon sighed and leaned against the couch, "Is there anything you can do? Anything at all that can find him or at the very least his trail?"

Alex considered the question. Then he shook his head. There was nothing that could be done to find Clint. Not at the moment at least. Until he decided to poke his head out of hiding they would have to simply hope that he would come out of it okay. It wasn't the best option but at the moment it was the only viable one. Where are you Clint?

...

It was a trap... He should have known it was a trap. Yet, he had ignored the signs and walked straight into the middle of it. Carlos had him trapped on a boat in the middle of the French sea. The man had him cornered. His gun was trained on him and the look on his face was triumphant. Clint pushed his way towards the door.

Two abrupt explosions pierced the sounds of the sea and the wind and the vessel’s pain. They came from the dimly lit cabin that rose and fell with its host body. Clint lunged out of the door grasping the railing with one hand, holding his stomach with the other. A second man followed, the pursuit cautious, his intent violent. He stood bracing himself in the cabin door; he raised a gun and fired again. And again.

Pain rushed through Clint's body and he hissed out in pain as the bullets hit him. He glanced behind him consideringly. It was fight the man in front of him. Or go into the water. Both were suicide in the state he was in. Another bullet pierced his shoulder. Pain blinded him momentarily. It made his decision for him and he tossed himself into the water.

He felt rushing cold water envelop him, swallowing him, sucking him under, and twisting him in circles, then propelling him up to the surface—only to gasp a single breath of air. A gasp and he was under again.

And there was heat, a strange moist heat at his temple that seared through the freezing water that kept swallowing him, a fire where no fire should burn. There was ice, too; an icelike throbbing in his stomach and his legs and his chest, oddly warmed by the cold sea around him. He felt these things, acknowledging his own panic as he felt them. He could see his own body turning and twisting, arms and feet working frantically against the pressures of the whirlpool.

He was not drowning! He would not drown!

Something struck his neck and his shoulders, constant, rapid, uncomfortable beats that meant moments of precious air and threatened the lungs if overused. Air. He had to find air and breathe it. He had to fill his lungs with the ocean that was supposed to be air. There was no straw available to drink the water, no glass to save the fish inside.

Desperately he tried to force himself back above the water. Gasping, coughing, spitting, choking. Repeatedly. Finally his head broke the turbulent waves. Spasms, rushes of pain everywhere. Eyes burning, mouth filled, throat filled, nose stinging, bleeding. Below the churning waters his legs were numb and bloodied, the muscles torn and shredded. But the flotsam, the debris of the destroyed yacht was in his hands and his arms. Strangest of all, and terrifying, was that the pain in his head was even more acute than the pain in his body.

What could he do? Where could he go?

Another flash of pain went through his head. Images raced across his mind. Faces, landscapes, battle scenes. Nothing was clear. Everything was distorted. Another wave crashed into him knocking him back under the water. Salt water burned at his wounds. His head continued to throb. He had been off the coast, too far to swim. He had to find a boat.

As he came up for air again, something hit him in the head. He saw stars. He grabbed at the object and held on. It was a piece of wood. From his yacht. Desperately he kicked his legs to stay above water. He needed to get somewhere. Anywhere. Before the sharks smelt his blood. Or before the darkness took him. The darkness that was eating at his vision. Threatening to swallow him whole. As a larger wave sent him flying into the depths once more. Darkness won.

...

"Body!" shouted one of the fisherman, "Body in the water!"

"Shit," cursed the captain as he passed her, "Get him in here, boys."

Bobbi froze. A body? This far out? That wasn't normal. She couldn't say that as she was supposed to be out here watching for Carlos or Bourne. Every member of the crew worked to get the waterlogged body out of the water. Bobbi was the first to grab ahold of the man's shirt and laid him out on the deck of the ship. They were all startled when the body let out a groan.

"Alive," grunted the captain, "The poor bastard is still alive. Jesus Christ, what happened to him?"

"Look at those wounds," breathed out the first mate, "Bullet wounds. We should put him back in the water. We don't want whatever kind of trouble this will bring."

"No," snapped the captain, "I won't have the death of another human on my conscience. We have a duty to help him. We will get him to the hospital. Morse, you have the most medical experience keep him alive until we can hand him off to the hospital."

With that the Captain hurried the men to turn the boat to the nearest port. Meanwhile, Bobbi started to work on the injured man. She pushed his hair back to get a look at his head wound. Only to freeze. Barton?

Chapter Text

...

She discreetly took the man's fingerprints and sent them off to SHIELD as she treated the injuries. She was 99% sure that this man was in fact the missing Agent Clint Barton. The question was how did he end up in the middle of the ocean in such bad shape? She couldn't ignore the obvious bullet wounds. Someone had shot him multiple times. Shot him and he'd been too close to fire. There were many burns across his exposed skin.

They moved him to below the deck and into the captain's bed and cut off his shirt and jacket. There she began to remove the bullets from him and stitch him up. Whoever the shooter had used steel jacketed rounds. They had done the job of ripping through his flesh and not getting caught in the muscle. There was going to be some serious physical therapy needed after this. If the man survived that was. Honestly the man was lucky to have survived being in the water at all.

Once the wounds were cleaned, stitched, and bandaged the only thing left was to wait. The crew changed him into too big sleep pants and left her with a shirt if he woke up. Then she waited to see if the man would survive the night. She kept an eye on his temperature, pulse, and breathing. All the while trying to keep the fever down and make sure infection didn't set in. There were a few times she almost thought he'd stopped breathing only for a ragged breath to be drawn in.

She startled a little when her phone went off and she answered, "Morse."

"Agent Morse," came the voice of Nick Fury, "You are to secure, Agent Barton and ensure he does not escape."

"Escape?" She asked in disbelief, "Director, the agent is barely breathing. I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Explain," demanded Fury.

"I have him in a room on the ship," explained the blonde, "His condition has stabilized but he was shot several times, stabbed once, and has suffered a lot of trauma. Whatever happened to him, Sir. I doubt he's going to try to leave the room anytime soon. At least not on his own power."

There was a long pause before Fury spoke, "I'm sending an extraction team to your location with medical. Keep your phone on you and do not let Barton out of your sight. Am I understood, Agent?"

Bobbi said, "Understood, sir."

"Good," replied Fury, "Fury, out."

The call ended and Bobbi looked at the unconscious man. What was it about him that had Fury on edge? Had something else happened that no one knew about yet?

...

They were almost to the meeting point when Barton stopped breathing. It was a shock to the whole crew. No one expected the young man to suddenly stop breathing. He had been doing so well. Bobbi was ready for the possibility and immediately began CPR. She refused to lose an agent. AWOL or not. Especially not to a bullet and the damn sea.

"Come on," growled out the woman, "Breathe, Barton! Breathe!"

A gasping cough finally came and he was breathing raggedly on his own. The rest of the trip to the dock was tense. No one was sure if their passenger would survive. Sometime later, Barton began muttering in a language she didn't understand. She likely wouldn't have been able to understand a word that was said even if it was in English. The mutterings were barely a whisper. Even leaning in close and listening intently there was no chance of her understanding a word.

All she could do was try and keep his fever from getting worse.

...

SHIELD arrived in the tiny fishing town like a hurricane. It was like a movie come to life and ruined any chance for Bobbi to return to her own mission. Not that that mattered. Finding a lost agent was a hell of a lot more important than tracking a ghost. A doctor and two medics were the first ones to board the vessel. Immediately they were led to the sick room and to their patient. In the doorway, Bobbi had to fight to see what was going on with her charge. Her worry only increased when the Doctor swore colorfully.

They didn't say a word to her as they began to pull him from the ship. Bobbi had to run to keep pace. She would be damned if she was going to let the man out of her sight now. Fury wanted him secured and she was not about to go against that order. So she found herself climbing into the helicopter alongside the medics. She would not relax until the agent was on the Helicarrier.

"Medical, incoming," called the pilot, "ETA five minutes. Prep the OR and have Dr. Streiten on standby. Agent has several gunshot wounds, one to the head. Unknown length of time without oxygen. Possible drowning. Multiple lacerations and burns. I repeat..."

The message repeated. The words sounded far away as she watched the medics work. They were hooking him up to an IV and trying to get his vitals stable. It seemed like the ride would never end. Until the doors opened and the medical staff pulled him off the helicopter.

Bobbi followed and had to jog to keep up. Agents of all levels made way for them in the hall. Each and everyone of their faces pale. They reached the medical wing and were forced to part ways. Medical personnel took the man and disappeared behind the surgery ward doors. Leaving Bobbi alone. Now the waiting game could begin.

...

Phil Coulson had to remind himself to breathe. When the call came in that Barton was located and in critical condition he felt his heart stop. Months of no contact between them and this was how he found out.

When the call came in, Phil had been in a meeting with the Avengers. Stark was being the usual pain in his ass but things had been going well. Right up until the moment his cell buzzed in his pocket. He had planned to ignore it. Until Romanov's phone went off as well.

That told him it was either an emergency or something had gone wrong with one of their ops. Either option was not good. He met Romanov's gaze momentarily. Then he excused himself from the room.

Once outside he answered, "This is Coulson."

"Coulson, this is an order from Director Fury," came Hill's voice over the line, "You and Agent Romanov are to return to the Helicarrier immediately."

"Is the world ending again, Hill?" asked Phil, "If not, then I am afraid the Avengers need my attention at the moment. Unless the situation is urgent you will have to make due without us."

He could practically see her grinding her teeth at his words. They both knew that the only person he took orders from was Fury. Even then that wasn't always the case after the Director lied to the Avengers. Thus losing one of the few people Phil truly called a friend.

Hill said, "Coulson, it's Agent Barton. We found him. I can't comment on his condition but it's not good. If you want the chance to say goodbye to him you will get on a damn plane and come back."

Then the call disconnected. Phil stared at his phone in disbelief. Barton had been located and was on the Helicarrier. He didn't know how to feel. Relief and fear warred within him. After a long moment, Phil composed himself and entered the room.

"Avengers," started the man, "I have to leave. Mine and Romanov's presences have been requested at SHIELD. Any further questions can wait. Thank you for your cooperation."

With that, Phil left the room. He heard a chair hit the ground and a quick chase to follow him.

"Sir?" Asked Romanov.

"It's him," was all that Phil could say at that exact moment, "Let's go."

Romanov didn't ask where they were going or who he was. She just nodded and fell into step beside him.

Chapter Text

...

It took more than an hour to get back to the Helicarrier. More than enough time for his thoughts to wander. His concern grew the longer they were in the air. How had they gotten Barton back on the Helicarrier? Was he hurt or had he come in willingly? Those were the questions that haunted him. As much as he tried to think about anything other than those two things his mind returned to them.

When the Quinjet landed on the deck of the carrier, Phil was the first to exit the jet. Natasha was right on his heels. Neither of them spoke. Nor did any of the agents that saw them in the hallway. Most realized why they were there and made way for them. When they got to the doors, however, a nurse blocked their entrance to the surgical suites. A sharp glare from Natasha didn't move her though.

"I'm sorry, sir," apologized the nurse, "But you can't enter the suite..."

"That is my agent in there," insisted Phil, "And you will allow me to see him."

"Coulson!" barked Fury as he entered behind them, "Stand down. Nurse, please continue."

"Of course, Sir," replied the woman, "Agent Barton is currently in surgery. Despite Agent Moore's identification we did confirm his identity through fingerprints."

Phil's shoulders relaxed at the confirmation. Confirmations were only used if the agent had been gone for a significant amount of time and or there were changes to their appearance. Given how long Barton had been able to avoid them, he suspected the man changed his appearance. Something that would have to be dealt with later.

"How bad was his condition when he came in?" asked Phil forcing himself to remain calm.

The nurse paled a bit at that question and looked to Fury. The Director jerked his head towards the door. Once the woman had left, the three headed to his office. Once the doors were closed, Fury sighed heavily and met his eyes.

"He's in critical condition," informed the Director, "Moore nearly lost him before the extraction. Its uncertain if he will make it through the surgery. Banks is in there. But you should see this."

Fury handed over a tablet that showed pictures. Pictures that had him freezing at the familiar face. Jason Bourne, but now that he was looking for it he could see Clint's features as well. It wasn't a new change, no, it had to have happened months ago. Yet somehow no one had noticed that their archer had become one of the most hunted assassin in the world. Hell he was working with the Avengers on a case by case basis. It made Bourne's animosity towards them more understandable though.

"How didn't we see this before now?" he asked as he handed the tablet to Romanoff, "We had him in the building and none of us recognized him."

"He's a chameleon," answered Fury, "He always has been. I suspect Abbott had a hand in this. There were rumors that the man started up another program. Barton has worked for him before."

Which likely would have broken his already fractured mind. From what Natasha said, Clint suffered more than he let on after Loki's mind control. That plus the stressor of Phil returning, it was little wonder he took off. He was protecting himself. How fractured was his mind now? After hunting the Jacka for as long as he had?'

There would be questions. They would have to wait however and see if he even survived the surgery.

...

It was almost 6 hours after Phil arrived that Banks left the surgery room. Exhaustion was clear on his face. Phil stood up from his spot and approached the doctor. Banks gave him a tired smile.

"Barton pulled through," reported the Doctor, "If he makes it through the next 24 hours he should be out of the woods. We won't know if there was any permanent damage until he wakes up however."

Phil nodded and went to the door. However, the surgeon stopped him. When he turned to look at the older man, the surgeon continued.

"Be prepared for the worst, Coulson," warned the Doctor, "I'm not saying that he won't recover. But he has multiple gunshot wounds, a stab wound, a concussion, and severe burns. His body has been pushed to its limit. And that doesn't take into account of any mental trauma. For now, we're keeping him sedated to give his body a chance to heal. Just... prepare yourself."

"Thank you, Alex," he said after a moment.

Then he went to check on his asset. When he reached the bed his steps faltered. Seeing the photos and seeing him in person were two different things. This was not the same man that had left SHIELD months ago. He was thinner in the face and had longer hair. The beard was a surprise too. Though not as much of a surprise was his injuries. Burns littered his exposed flesh and bruises that were dark. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso. An iv was hook into his arm and there was a breathing tube in his throat.

"Damn it," he muttered as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

Natasha sucked in a surprised breath. Her eyes were wide in shock. Then her gaze softened and she squeezed his shoulder. She took the other chair. All they could do was wait.